


Come Hither

by AnnaLund2011



Category: Twilight Series - All Media Types, Twilight Series - Stephenie Meyer
Genre: AH - Freeform, M/M, Multi, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-01
Updated: 2011-08-01
Packaged: 2017-11-06 17:34:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,103
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/421520
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnnaLund2011/pseuds/AnnaLund2011
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <b>Their bedroom door is only almost closed, but not closed enough to muffle the sounds coming from the second floor—Entry for the Slash/Backslash 3.0, August 2011.</b>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Come Hither

**Author's Note:**

> **Disclaimer:** I do not own it. Stephenie Meyers does. We all know this.  
>  **Warnings:** This is about boys loving each other. And perhaps even more than two at the same time. Physically. If you don't like that kind of thing, don't read.  
>  **Beta:** forthelongestday  
>  **Prereader:** bmango
> 
>  
> 
> **Banner by the talented forthelongestday**  
> 
> 
>   
> 

**Come Hither**

I'm working away—hitting keys, finding words, moving through layers of understanding. Sometimes I stop, and read instead; delve deeply into stories that change me, awaken me, reach me and teach me. Those are the good nights, the nights I don't feel lonely. The nights when there is light in my life and the darkness hovers but doesn't quite manage to take hold.

Many nights I sit here, just hanging, bringing work to a comfortable armchair instead of using my desk. Some nights the boys stay with me, down here, instead of going upstairs. I talk to them. They are sweet.

I make myself a tall glass of ice tea, and move around a little bit to shake out my stiff limbs. I find myself by the stairs.

There is a small shaft of light hitting the wall above the staircase. Their bedroom door is only almost closed, but not closed enough to muffle the sounds coming from the second floor. I sit down on the bottom step of the stairs, leaning my head against the lowest rung of the banister. I am in my boxers, because this night is hot as all fuck, and I am boiling here. I'd like to go upstairs to them, but I'm afraid I might actually see.

I have imagined the scene so many times, written it a hundred more, and read about it so many it's plain ridiculous. But to actually see it happening? It just might be too much for my heart to handle. Yeah, who am I kidding? My heart is most probably not the part that would be going into overload.

These two boys have lived in my house for almost a year now. One day they showed up at my door, explaining that they had nowhere to go, and there I was, recently out of work, and with almost no way to make a living. So, I rented out the rooms on my upper floor to them, and moved myself—and most of my life—into the basement. We all meet on the ground floor, where my computer is, and where we watch movies and have our meals. They are a riot. They have completely changed my life.

I used to be a strong, lean, young, and happy man. Somewhere along the way I turned into someone who was strong most days and only happy some. Young and lean? Right out the window. When the boys moved in, somehow I started writing—and life just changed; it changed everything. Beauty returned, for me and for the world in which I live. The feeling of old and weary disappeared. The joy of discovery and living came back, and with it a feeling of 'This ain't over; it goddamn ain't over until I say so'. It is a powerful place.

Oh fuck. They are going at it, big time. I watch from the crack of the door. Yeah, so I snuck up the stairs, right? Sue me. Life is so much more fun with them in it. I feel alive again. So I look.

They are in love. In lust. In each other. In ways I didn't even know were possible. Wow. I am right there in their doorway, and they are oblivious to me, to the world, to anything that isn't them. Focus, that's what they've got, and what I have been lacking for a long time. I'm always getting lost in my mind, I think my brain works differently from most other folks' brains. And I'm not sure yet if that is such a good thing.

I watch. I always watch—and they don't know, I think. Usually Jasper tops, but tonight it's different, something has changed, the dynamics have shifted; I don't know why. Edward is in charge this time, normally so subdued and accepting, he is now demanding, ordering, telling—and he is gloriously in command. Jasper is breathless, obeying, watching; he's looking up at Edward like an amazed child on a fairground in front of the really big roller coasters.

"I need you," he whispers to Edward. "I need you so bad it hurts."

Edward looks down at Jasper and says, "I know, love. I need you too. You know that; I always need you. But we are extending an invitation tonight. Someone is watching. He needs us."

And Edward turns around and looks straight at me where I'm standing in the dark hallway outside their almost closed bedroom door. I look behind me, there is nobody else there. He crooks his finger at me, smiling. "Please come in here, we can't have you standing out there all by yourself, love. Come hither, sweetness, and let us feast upon thy beauty."

I am looking straight into the eyes of a figment of my imagination, and all I can see is green, glittering joy. Behind Edward I see Jasper slowly sitting up, and the smile he's trying to hide gives him away. He looks up at me, through a forest of lashes, and bashfully says "Oh, darlin', get over here, there's plenty of room for you to join in all the fun!"

Taking a couple of deep breaths, I shake my head at myself, turn and walk toward the staircase, thinking I should go get some coffee going, as I'm so tired and lonely I'm seeing things. Imagining things. Boys, I'm imagining boys; in my house. Imagining boys in a bed. Naked. Naked boys. In a huge bed. In my house.

Ok, let's recap; naked boys in a huge bed, in my house. Wow.

Yeah, coffee might help with that. And then a long bath, with a little holy worship, as in self-loving, thrown in for good measure? And there I go, lost in my mind again, as I start walking toward the stairs. I shake my head to try to focus on putting one foot in front of the other, and stop thinking of the boys. Gah! Those boys! They already fill my days and nights with their stories, reading about them, writing about them, thinking about them. Imagining them in my own home is a bit too much. Need coffee. A lot of coffee.

Go fix. Now.

The Grandfather clock on my landing shatters the silence with its loud chiming of the midnight hour. I'm startled, and my step falters.

"Hey!"

I freeze with one foot still in the air. I'm swinging back and forth on the other, not a good idea. Please, leg, put your foot down, or keep walking. Or else, there will be falling. Real soon. Real hard.

Lost in my mind, I'm debating the pros and cons of standing versus falling. Then my mind asks me if I meant metaphorical falling, like falling for a boy? Or did I mean real, honest to god, hit your ass on the floor falling? Because that's what's happening right now. I believe I'm losing my mind, right along with my equilibrium. Ass, meet floor. Floor, this is ass. Down I go, and there goes the small side table with all my trinkets on it shooting down the landing. The vase with flowers is down, but there was thankfully no water in it. Water on floorboards would have been a bugger.

The flowers are dead. Stone dead. My tiny Dylan Dog car rolls off into the corner to the right, and my fabulous Lamborghini L33 rolls off to the left. I'll probably step on one or the other later, to make this night a total ER-night. Perhaps even both, if I try hard enough. Now, if I could only get my head out of my ass. Or off of the floor, whichever comes first—and stop hearing voices.

"HEY!"

"What? Who said that?" I scream, falling back again, to my new favorite position on the floorboards. I hadn't even had time to get up yet. I'm getting a strong feeling I'm going bonkers. But the Oriental rug is soft and silky under me. Talking to myself, thinking of sweet boys is all well and good in front of my keyboard, where there is an outlet for these things. Where I can transform all my crazy into cool. Into words of love. Hard sex. Unhappy love. Sad life. Good life. Take your pick.

Imagination is the only limit here. Only now it seems my Imagination has kicked my Serious in the ass. Hard. I can talk to the boys in my shower. Or when I sleep. When I indulge in a tour of fantasy-land. But not in real life. So, there, now I know. There was no voice, it's all in my head. Right? Right.

"Who's that talking?"

"I am. Get in here. Right now." Edward's voice has an edge of command in it, and I slowly turn around. Usually, I don't react well at all to bossy people, but right now, all I want to do is go back and see if he is real. Bossy voice or not, I am curious. So I turn around and scramble to my feet. I stare at the door, and take a step forward. A kick to the wooden panel gives me an instant view of the whole room.

"There you go! I told you he'd get his fine ass in here!" Jasper is laughing hard and looking a little bit out of breath.

Jasper. Always Jasper. What would one do in life without a little Jasper? I mean, seriously?

"Oh, oh, oh, beautiful, he is…. Come here, he will…" Jasper says, with a twinkle in his eye, letting his fingers do his magic Yoda wave.

I giggle, Edward snorts. and then they both fall into a heap on the bed laughing. I stand there, watching my creations, loving them more every day, feeling so connected to them, nothing can keep me from sitting down. Even though I am scared that they are going to disappear in a cloud of imagination the second I do.

They don't. Suddenly there's an air of seriousness in the room. Two boys are looking up at me from where they are lying on the bed. Glorious boys, beautiful boys. Men, really—when did they grow up? It went so fast; one day they were quite young, looking barely eighteen. Fresh, young peachy-cheeked boys have suddenly turned into scruffy, red-lipped, hot and sexy men.

I am in bed with two of the most beautiful men currently existing in this world. I have got to get a hold of this internal monologue, it is killing any chances I have at a life, and any chances I have of a small-death in the very, very near future. Buckle up man.

I reach out one hand to Edward's cheek, and the other goes up to push Jasper's locks out of his eyes. That is all it takes, I am being pulled under, strong arms bring me closer, whispers tell me to relax, enjoy, watch, feel, let go, kiss and sigh.

Edward leans over me, to Jasper, and slides his piano player's hand over Jasper's scruffy jaw, thumb slowly passing over a red lower lip. They are drowning in each other's eyes, and I can feel their hearts beat hard against my chest. They are half lying on top of me, half stretching toward each other. I snake a hand up to Edward's neck, and work my fingers up, nails slightly scratching as I go. I keep going, passing chin, sideburns and the mouth kissing Jasper, up into his beautiful hair. I get a good grip and talk to them both, in a low whisper.

"You two are the reason I am still alive. You are my reason for breathing. Show me who you really are when I am not the one in control of words and actions. Let me in. Don't forget each other, but if you want me in your lives, then let me in."

Jasper's soft hand traces my face, cupping my cheek, as he finishes the kiss with Edward with small pecks and nibbles. Then he turns his burning slate colored eyes upon me, wearing a serious expression.

"You're scaring me, Jasper, what's wrong?"

"Absolutely nothing, darlin', I'm just trying to register and memorize every shape, softness, angle, and shadow of your face. You are so beautiful. You have given us life, sustenance, love and most of all you have given us each other. Thank you. Now, scoot over, and let us show you how much we love you."

Suddenly my arms and legs are being touched, with soft, slow caresses. Edward's hands are creeping up my thighs, fingers doing small circles, while Jasper is kissing the palm of my right hand and blowing on it, then moving up my arm, soft lips brushing the short hairs that are standing straight up.

A _frisson_ shakes me and I have goose-pimples all over my electrified body. It is all sensation, high voltage, all enclosing. I'm lost in their touch, in their sweetness, in all that makes them Edward and Jasper. Bronze and blonde, tanned and beautiful.

I moan loudly when Jasper whispers against my hipbone, tongue slipping out, tasting me. Then Edward lays his cheek to my belly and blows a strong tunnel of air against all that which is pulsing and alive within me. I am electricity personified. I am a power plant, and I am at meltdown. My hands are caressing Edward's neck, and going up in his hair again.

He turns his head and smiles at me, kissing my wrist. "You rock my world, love," he says to me, and then moans loudly when Jasper slowly bites down on his nipple. They both look up at me and I groan with want. Need. Want. More. Need. More. Want.

There is a moment when they both just stop and feel. In tandem these boys' hands travel up my legs, they are looking at each other, as if they are deciding something, and then they are suddenly all over me. Four hands, two mouths and two tongues, touch me, caress me, whisk me away. I am floating, flailing, losing myself and losing the world. I don't know who is where and how or why anymore. I don't know where Jasper ends and Edward starts. I am all sensation and all I feel are hands gripping, teeth nipping, and tongues soothing. I shoot right out of my soul into something bigger than me, bigger than all of us, and my boys watch me go—and they see me come down again, slowly regaining coherence. Sated.

Jasper takes my hand and looks me deep in the eyes, then laughs at Edward. "Look at that! Did you see him soar, Edward? That was amazing to watch! Can we do that again? Soon? Please?"

Edward chuckles and says "Well, Jasper, there are so many more things we could do to him, just think about it for a minute! Let's put a plan together."

They amaze me. I love them, but now this can not be about me anymore. This is about them. Hoping I can still call some shots here, I tell them to go back to each other. I'll be watching. Up close and personal, I'll be watching. I want to see them fierce, hard, and wild. Jasper draws his breath in and holds it, while Edward gets a feral look in his eyes, as he pounces. I push myself up toward the headboard, and as if all he was waiting for was a signal from me, Jasper melts in Edward's hands, like cotton candy on the fairgrounds in the heat of an August afternoon in Alabama.

I was slowly coming down from my high, when they start kissing seriously. But it's like a roller coaster, suddenly I'm up in the air again, just from watching them. Jasper curls into Edward, and the sparkle that lights up their faces is otherworldly. This is just plain beautiful.

Edward breaks the silence with a groan, "Fuck! I need you Jas, I need to feel you around me now!"

Jasper turns toward the bedside table, finds both lube and condoms, and smiles. "Here you go darlin', let's you and I get me ready."

As I watch them together, I understand their love, what it truly is they have. They melt, together, they are one. It does something to my heart to see them like this. There is beauty here, nothing dirty, foul or wrong. Love like this is love indeed. Love is love. Intense and real. Not for show, not for me. This is them coming together in their own, unique way. Beauty.

We should all be so lucky as to find that kind of connection, that kind of _Joie de vivre_. It shines out of their eyes, it lives in their moans. They are beautiful, young, tanned, sleek, male, hot and in love with each other. It is magic, pure magic, to watch them come together and come apart and come together again. Rhythmic noises, soothing, caressing, slapping, screaming, keening, moaning, cussing, and finally, adoring, loving, cooing. I am lucky to be a part of it all, if only for just one night.

When they come down from their high, I thank them for their gift. Their gift of loving each other, of loving me and of sharing that love. I get up and kiss them both good night. They are lying flat out all over the bed, connected but stretched out in the heat; long, beautiful limbs tangling and happy smiling sleepy eyes. The sandman is in the building, he's coming to take them any second now, and my heart warms. They are so sweet, so beautiful—and so damn hot it's criminal.

I wave from the door, to where they lie on the bed, absolutely spent and happy and glorious and sweet and _mine_! And then I turn and walk out the door. Stumbling on the Oriental rug on the landing, I fall straight toward the stairs. Yeah, it's the same rug I was sitting on earlier, it likes me, it wants to come closer. Fuck. I fall, head over ass, and wake up with a start.

The keyboard is glued to my face, backward letters etched into my right cheek. Y U K L—in sweet, little squares.

Oh great. I've fallen asleep on my latest story. The poor, startled Macintosh comes alive, the cursor blinking on the half-full word page on the screen. In my haze, I think I see Jasper's smile fading into the snowy recesses of the computer's interior, but when I blink my sleepy eyes, that image is gone, too. All gone.

**Author's Note:**

>  **  
> **  
> .  
> .  
> .  
>  Thank you for reading.


End file.
